


Who I Am, Who You Are

by giddytf2



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A teeny bit of angst, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, M/M, PWP, Romance, Smut, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giddytf2/pseuds/giddytf2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He’s never thought about a future. Until Stiles weaved his way into his seams. Buried himself in the stratums of his thoughts, his heart. Anchored him. In return, he gives Stiles the one thing he has given no one else of his own free will: Control over him. Absolute control.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who I Am, Who You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fluffy smut piece. I got no excuse for it.
> 
> By the way, you can find me on Tumblr as [giddytf2](http://giddytf2.tumblr.com). You can also read the story on Tumblr [here](http://giddytf2.tumblr.com/post/92417007827/who-i-am-who-you-are-derek-stiles-nc-17).

Derek isn’t surprised by Stiles showing up at his house after midnight, not anymore, not after five years of it. Stiles comes to him to remember who he was before the Nogitsune, who he is after it. Stiles comes to him hoping to know who he will be tomorrow.

He lets Stiles come to his house, into it, because he hopes to know who he himself will be tomorrow.

He’s never thought about a future. Until Stiles weaved his way into his seams. Buried himself in the stratums of his thoughts, his heart. Anchored him. In return, he gives Stiles the one thing he has given no one else of his own free will: Control over him. Absolute control.

When Stiles stands before him like he is now, he’s usually a storm of lust and exhilaration barely contained in a human body. Smiling wide, unabashedly caressing his hair, his neck and shoulders and chest. His belly, as they draw nearer to each other. His lower back, the upper swell of his buttocks as their lips collide and cling.

Stiles likes to fuck him slow and deep on such nights. Fuck him till he’s scorching from the inside out, clawing at the steel headboard of his bed, begging for release.

On other nights, when they’ve had a close shave with death, be it at the hands of other werewolves or hunters or another homicidal supernatural creature on a long list of them, Stiles is forceful. Angry at the world. Stiles fucks him hard and fast and even deeper. Fucks him anywhere in the house; bent over the coffee table in the living room, on the marble kitchen counter, on the staircase, on the floor near the front door when they couldn’t wait a moment longer. Fucks him so hard and long that his claws and fangs pop out and he screams until his voice is hoarse.

Tonight, Stiles is a living amalgam of the two states. They almost died today under the trampling hooves of a centaur gone mad from loneliness. One of the centaur’s hooves had struck him in the sternum and broken it. Sent shards of bone into his lungs. He’d almost suffocated and drowned in his own blood despite his werewolf healing abilities.

For the first time, he saw Stiles cry for him. Felt Stiles’ tears plummet onto his face as Stiles cradled him and yelled at him for being such a fucking idiot for jumping between him and the centaur.

Tonight, Stiles is going to make him forget who he was, who he is. Make him forget everything about himself, for a while. And he will be grateful for it.

“Tell me who I am, Derek.”

He sprawls naked on his bed on his back while Stiles looms over him, his human-shaped god of mole-spotted, pale skin and wild, brown hair and pinioning, amber eyes. He glances at Stiles’ parted lips, at Stiles’ upturned nose, at Stiles’ eyes and then back at those full, deceivingly angelic lips. They bring out the fiend in him. They smite his walls, his fortresses and light him on fire with mere words and kisses.

“You’re Stiles Stilinski,” he rasps, drawing his legs up, parting them. “You make me … volatile. You make me reckless. You make me _burn_.”

Stiles’ eyes smolder in the enveloping dimness of the bedroom.

“Tell me who you are, Derek.”

His breath snags in his throat as Stiles grinds their groins, their cocks together. Stiles is already hard and leaking pre-come. Thick. The perfect length to fill him and pound that spot inside him that rips away what remains of his pride and inhibitions.

“I … I am Derek Hale,” he whispers, defenseless beneath Stiles’ unwavering stare. “And you’re going to fuck me and devour me until I remember nothing but you.”

He keeps his eyes open as Stiles leans down and kisses him with parted lips. He kisses back and parts his own lips, sliding their tongues together, sucking on Stiles’ lower lip and oh, he knows who he is.

He’s Derek Hale, a former Alpha werewolf who’s now an Omega. He’s Derek Hale and he’s kissing a twenty-three year old Stiles in his bedroom in the renovated Hale house and Stiles is going to fuck him slow and deep and then fast and hard and he’s going to let Stiles do whatever he wants to him. Stiles is his anchor, his master. Stiles is his reality. Stiles is the only certainty he has.

Stiles kisses him as if it’s their last day on this earth. Stiles hungers as much as he does. Stiles grips the back of his neck and runs his free hand down his chest, over his right nipple, down his flank. Stiles’ fingers are long and agile and they squeeze his right buttock in a solid promise of the pleasure to come. They grind their erections against each other. Stiles nips his lower lip at the end of their kiss and it is another promise that sends lightning zigzagging down his arched spine, that makes him moan into Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles is no longer the gangly, awkward teenager that he was. Stiles has grown in height, in muscle mass. Has an athletic swimmer’s body and the strength and endurance of one. Stiles can be rough with him in ways that he never can with another human. Stiles can _let go_ with him, and oh yes, he can take whatever Stiles can give him. Take as hard and as much as Stiles needs him to.

He preens beneath Stiles’ blatant appraisal and approval of his muscular, well-rounded body. Only in Stiles’ eyes does he believe that he is attractive. That he is worth something, at all. When Stiles kisses him again, roughly, he returns the overwhelming intensity of it, panting for air whenever their mouths separate. He latches onto Stiles’ shoulders with both arms and wraps his legs around Stiles’ hips. He whimpers in the back of his throat when Stiles rubs and thumbs his nipples enough that they ache.

Stiles kisses and licks his neck while he regains his breath. He moans and shuts his eyes when Stiles sucks on the skin over his jugular vein, sinks blunt teeth into it. He wishes Stiles was a werewolf too so that he can sink his own teeth into Stiles’ neck. He’s not an Alpha anymore and can’t turn someone with his bite, but he won’t take that chance, not where Stiles is concerned. He’s glad enough that Stiles isn’t afraid to bite him like this. That Stiles understands the immense significance of him presenting his neck like this, allowing Stiles to even bite him.

Stiles’ cock slides down between his buttocks. He feels the head of Stiles’ cock prodding at the entrance to his body. He feels Stiles’ panting breaths against his cheek and he opens his eyes and sees the question in Stiles’ eyes. The request for permission.

Stiles is about to fuck him, fuck him till he goes mad from the pleasure, but now, he is the powerful one.

He nods jerkily, rendered mute by his raw, tremendous need.

He is Derek Hale and his two-hundred pound body of muscle and supernatural strength goes rubbery as Stiles easily manhandles him until his back his bowed and his legs are on Stiles’ shoulders. His chest and belly tremble as Stiles’ fiery eyes rake over him and shred his every shield and leave him exposed to the elements. Stiles stares at him as if he is a magnificent, mysterious creature never seen before by any other. It makes his cock harden even more. Makes his breath ragged.

Stiles leans forwards until their faces are mere inches apart. Stares into his eyes as he pushes into him, relentlessly, mercilessly in one thrust to the hilt. Just the way he loves it. Stiles feels huge and hot and so fucking _incredible_ that he gasps and lets out a shattered groan as Stiles bottoms out. The strike upon his prostate sends him into a full-body shudder.

Only with Stiles can he be so vulnerable, so safe. Only with Stiles does he permit himself to crack, to _feel_ , to let those emotions seep into his eyes.

He blinks rapidly. He grabs a fistful of Stiles’ hair and drowns his cries in Stiles’ mouth while Stiles’ hips snap back and forth. His toes and feet curl each time Stiles pounds his prostate. It’s so good, _so damn good_ and he wants this to last forever but hearing the sounds Stiles is making along with him, _seeing_ how much Stiles is enjoying this, enjoying and reveling in _him_ drives him so much closer to the edge. He seizes Stiles’ upper arms. Stiles presses their foreheads together, bending him almost double. He can take it, _oh_ , he can take it as long as Stiles doesn’t stop, _never_ stops –

Stiles’ lips are against his ear. He hears Stiles whisper words into it that he never thought he’d hear Stiles say. He gasps and his eyes widen. He tightens around Stiles’ cock and Stiles’ thrusts become even deeper, faster, _harder_. He shouts at one particularly deep thrust. It’s so deep it feels like it’s reached his heart, like it’s yanking him away from his tethers to this world.

When Stiles’ amber eyes gaze into his again, searing him, _freeing_ him, he comes in mighty, blistering spurts on his heaving belly and chest. He digs his claws into the pillow under his head. He isn’t sure if his fangs have dropped. He tosses his head and feels like he’s been broken down into loose atoms, everywhere and nowhere at once. He’s never felt so much pleasure from an orgasm before, such utter liberation, and it’s all due to Stiles.

It’s always been Stiles.

He knows that for certain, now, after what Stiles whispered into his ear.

He strokes Stiles’ face and chest with quivering hands once he has the energy to do so. He watches Stiles’ face with heavy-lidded eyes as Stiles thrusts into him several more times. Smiles softly as orgasm speeds through Stiles’ sweat-sheened, beautiful body, as Stiles’ cock jerks within him and fills him deep inside.

He’d keep Stiles’ come inside him, if he could. Keep Stiles buried deep in him. Keep Stiles in his arms. Keep Stiles safe from the world, from harm. But Stiles isn’t one to be tied down to land when he’s meant to fly. Stiles is at his most amazing when he’s free.

How fortunate it is for him, then, that Stiles returns to him again and again.

“Tell me who I am, Derek,” Stiles says, after he’s cleaned them both with a damp cloth.

They lie facing each other on their sides under the covers, their legs entangled, their groins and bellies pressed together. Their noses grazing. Their warm, gleaming gazes locked.

“You’re the one I love,” he says, as Stiles caresses his bristly cheek. “The one I’ve always loved. From the moment we met.”

“Tell me who you are, Derek.”

Stiles’ right hand rests upon the side of his neck, over his pulse. He maintains eye contact, but surely Stiles feels the bobbing of his throat as he swallows around the lump in it.

“I am the one you love,” he whispers.

Stiles’ smile grows into something more brilliant and life-giving than the sun.

“The one I’ve always loved, from the moment we met,” Stiles whispers back, and with his final reserves of energy, Derek kisses him as if it’s the first day of the rest of their lives on this earth.

As they fall asleep, his head tucked under Stiles’ chin, he thinks how fortunate it is for him, that Stiles is here to stay with him, after all.

 

 

 

 

**Fin**


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